


Lessons Learned

by cranky__crocus



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-27
Updated: 2010-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:19:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranky__crocus/pseuds/cranky__crocus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erica and Addison discussed lessons they have learned in medicine and life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons Learned

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to parallel what I was watching as I first watched (or re-watched, can't recall) Grey's Anatomy. I was intrigued by the idea of specifically being taught lessons for patient care and attachment.

I.

            “God, this inanition is killing me,” I murmur as I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel. I’ve just washed and lavished myself in hot water, yet dark marks still reside under my eyes. I can see them in the mirror as I step up behind Erica, who is in her pyjamas brushing her teeth.

            “Tired?” she questions around her frothy toothbrush. I smile sadly.

            “Bone-tired. Soul-sucked tired. I’d forgotten what spending all my time in a hospital felt like. Even knowing that I did it for decades, I still don’t know how you do it now.” I press myself against her strong back and she shimmies her shoulders at the touch of my wet hair.

            “It used to be that I lived for the hospital. Time at home felt more like work—work I had to do for the real world. My world was always the hospital,” she admits after she spits and gargles. “Now I can spend so much time at the hospital because I know I’m doing the right thing and I have something to come home to, whether a person, an identity or both.”

            I smile and kiss her shoulder. “I’m so glad to hear that.”

  

  1. “What’s the hardest lesson you ever had to teach?”
  



            I slip into bed and fold myself around her, ignoring the book in her lap. Knowing her, it’s probably medical and she’s probably read it enough times to write her own copy. I think of Izzie Stevens in response to her question; I shudder. She takes it to mean it’s a difficult answer and tenses. She’s right: it’s difficult; laced in difficulties every which way, including her way.

            “You won’t like me when I answer.”

            “I will,” she assures me. Her hold tightens.

            I sigh. I know she will in the end. It won’t stop her from being unhappy to hear it at first.

            “To begin, what’s the quality you find makes the worst doctor?”

            She hums a low dark tune as she thinks. I think it’s adorable, but it’s hard to consider that as I worry about the course of our conversation.

            “Doctors who get attached to patients to the point that it negatively affects medical decision and morality,” she answers finally. It’s worded almost precisely the way I imagined she would.

            I nod into her shoulder. “I thought you would say that. So the beginning of my story is that I used to possess that very quality myself. It was terrible. As bad as it is for everyone else around, it’s worst for that person.”

            “I would debate that,” she murmurs, and I know exactly what she’s thinking about. Yes, I think she has every reason to debate my last statement. Perhaps it’s equal pain all around.

            “You know I did my internship at Seattle Grace.” I feel a nod against the crown of my wet hair. “Richard Webber was one of the attendings I brushed up against most often. Not sexually.”

            I feel rather than hear a growl deep within her substantial chest and bite my lip.

            “I used to get attached to patients. I’d yell during operations at their loss, I’d cry the rest of the day away, I’d lose track of my tongue and my censor when speaking with patients and family. I made rash decisions that should have taken a moment’s thought and supervisory consideration. I was the doctor you would hate, because above all that, I was superb. I was the worst sort of doctor: 100% potential living up to so little.”

            I feel gentle fingers on my head and understand she is urging me on; she’s hooked on my story. Few people know it, but she’s always in it for the story when she’s away from the hospital. She knows so much of life is story. It’s a wise conclusion.

            “I was attached to this one old woman who reminded me of my grandmother. I didn’t have a specialty then and though I was drawn to neonatal care, I was also very interested in general surgery. I was her intern. I spent one long night in her room comforting her through short lapses of consciousness.

            “Webber found me the next day and told me he and a neurologist were working on the woman’s case. He told me I was to be on-call for the next night as well to watch over her and try to keep her alive. I stayed again. Most of her conscious time was spent coughing up material, but from time to time she told me about her son and the children he had with his partner.”

            I take a deep breath as the tears come. I swallow the lump that is forming and feel softly probing fingers at my neck, relieving pressure and massaging in slow circles. I smile up gratefully.

            “At about six in the morning, when my shift was almost over, the woman told me to go to sleep. She told me I deserved a rest. She instructed me to rest my head against her bed and she would never tell a soul. I told her I would never do it, but she was insistent so at last I rested my head near her leg to appease her. I wasn’t going to sleep, but I was out within minutes.”

            I took Erica’s other hand in mine and squeezed it gently. “When I woke up she was gone and I was in an on-call room. I checked her chart. The time of death was 6.37 a.m. I think she knew she was dying, but just like Webber, she didn’t tell me. Derek had carried me to the on-call room and tucked me in.

            “I was told later that everyone knew she was going to die. She had known on some level that her time was up. Everyone but me knew. They didn’t tell me because they wanted to teach me a lesson, wanted to teach me not to get so entwined with my patients on a personal level.”

            I laugh bitterly.

            “For a while I didn’t get entwined with _anyone_ on a personal level. I broke up with Derek for two months because he had been in on it. I hardly spoke to Webber for a year. It broke me. I’m a better doctor for the lesson I learned, but it’s only because the pain is still here, reminding me every day. Diane Snyder, mother of three, grandmother of nine, lover of all. Dead at 6.37 with my head against her thigh, expecting to keep her alive a while longer.”

            Erica holds me tightly as I cry against her collarbone. I never cried with Derek because he wouldn’t have understood my pain over it: he had ironically been too close to the issue, being part of the lesson. Savvy wouldn’t have understood. Erica...somehow I knew Erica would understand.

            “So that’s the hardest lesson you ever learned,” she sums up in a whisper. It’s still gravelly because that’s just the way her voice is, but I think the world of it. It’s comforting to me.

            “It is. Part two is the lesson I taught.”

 

II.

“I know this lesson is a touch esoteric to those of us who have the over-attached problem...you may have to keep that in mind as you listen to this part, because it involves you, in a way. I learned the lesson. Some people don’t, no matter how many times it’s passed along. It’s usually handed down by those who have the same intimate understanding of the problem. Perhaps that’s why it doesn’t always work.”

            I can almost hear whirring above me, from Erica’s head where her cheek rests on my hair.

            “You worked with Stevens,” she gathers.

            I’m careful not to nod. I hum an affirmation.

            “She was gifted in neonatal. I met her when I came chasing McDreamy across the country. She was friends with Meredith, of course, so that was problematic. Somehow I gained her trust through the odds.”

            “It’s not terribly difficult to gain her trust,” she points out sadly. “The difficult part is trusting her.”

            I sigh and squeeze Erica’s hand with a bit of a harsh flick.

            “We had a premature quintuplet case with a lot of problems. I could tell by then that Izzie was one of the attachers. I spoke with Webber and he agreed that she had wonderful potential but got caught up in the same games I did. We decided I needed to pass on The Lesson.”

            I cringe as I remember the baby girls and the rest of the story.

            “One baby, Emilie, had a cardio problem. 1 millimetre passage, she wasn’t circulating her own blood properly. We knew she wouldn’t make it. I didn’t tell Doctor Stevens. I told her she was to be on-call another night, that she had to watch Emilie and that she was on full responsibility to keep that baby alive.”

            “You had to be heartless.”

            “I did. I pulled it off, too. Stevens pushed through a few codes and fell asleep a few hours before Emilie’s death. I instructed no one to wake her. She confronted me soon after and was furious with me for leaving her with the ‘useless’ responsibilities, that she worked so hard and for nothing.”

            “Nothing?” Erica repeats.

            “I knew she didn’t grasp the lesson as well,” I explain with a heady sigh. “I tried to teach her not to get so attached next time, that it makes us better doctors. She just got angry.”

            Erica grows silent. I know what she’s thinking and confirm it out loud.

            “Months later she’s falling in love with a heart patient, excited for a future with the love of her life and his new heart, watching his new heart die and pulling stunts to get him higher on the list to steal another heart. Your heart. Doubly—she stole Mike’s heart for Denny and Callie’s heart for Seattle Grace. She stole two of your hearts.”

            The blonde looks down at her chest. I rest a hand next to her left breast and feel her heart beating through my finger tips.

            “She didn’t steal my heart.” Erica comments in a soft voice.

            “No, I did.”

            “You still don’t get attached?”

            “I do when it’s appropriate.” I wince and amend, “I do when it matters.”

            “It’s yours.”

 

III.

            “I have...well...I’m...” I sigh as I try to speak. “A scintilla of fear, apparently.”

            I muster up a breath as Erica stares at me silently from where we rest on our pillows facing each other. Her hand is tucked on my waist. I put my hand on hers.

            “Izzie Stevens.” I watch her face cringe and take on some pain before it’s whitewashed with stoic energy. “That happens every time.”

            “Rightfully,” she expresses. I frown.

            “Did you know she’s actually a wonderful person?” I hold up a finger before Erica can interrupt and literally list off her bad points. “A wonderful person who makes terrible, stupid mistakes. But she also does lovely, beautiful things.”

            “Like?” Erica questions. It isn’t much, but it means the world to me: she has never taken the time to let me explain the Izzie debate. I’ve never tried before, of course, but she’s never let anyone _else_ do it either.

            “She bakes constantly. She tries to brighten up the holidays for everyone around. Not just the holidays, but every day. She cares for her friends and loved ones above all. She’s a fabulous surgeon who really knows her stuff.  She’s witty and fun to be around.”

            “I know all that, Addie, I really do.”

            “Why do you still wince when her name is mentioned?”

            “Because it’s an open sore. It reminds me of bad times—losing the heart, disappointing people, disappointing myself, misplacing my morals, heartbreak.” She sighs. “Some day, I may be able to forgive her. I didn’t understand the feeling of fully requited love then, I only understood fumbling in the dark. If it were you in the patient room in need of a heart, I would be tempted too. I would draw the line with your help, but I would be tempted. Even knowing that much gives me more reason to forgive Izzie Stevens.”

            “I love you,” I blurt as I hear Erica Hahn speak about Izzie Stevens in a nearly positive light, something I never imagined in this eternity. It just reminds me of all the things I adore about Erica and her impeccable character. And I _do_ love her.

            A quirky grin slides across her lips.

            “So Stevens lost me my first real lover, but got my second to admit to loving me?” she murmurs and slips closer.

            “Guess so,” I croon, unable to think properly with Erica’s face so close to mine.

            “Another mark on the Forgiving Izzie Stevens pole.” She’s kissing me and oh, God, it always feels so right. She’s Erica. It’s all right. “And I love you too.”

            I melt. Then I hold her tight as can be and try to cop a feel. She laughs and we’re flying.

 

IV.

            “So what would it take for you to forgive a cormorant like Stevens?” I question over a breakfast of wheat toast and carrots with humus. “Metastatic cancer?”

            “Something like that, probably.”

            “You bitch!” I say with a crunch into my toast. She pulls a face at me and laughs.

            “No, just hell freezing over, I guess.”

            “So she’d be in more luck with the cancer.”

            Erica’s eyes grow serious. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Every day I get closer to forgiving Izzie Stevens. I know that the day I do, I’ll be forgiving myself for working at Seattle Grace, forgiving myself for putting a stolen heart in Denny’s chest, forgiving myself for not putting it in Mike’s, forgiving Webber for his ignorance in how to treat a situation he was too close to, forgiving Callie for her panic and sexual exploration in a time of a hazy relationship...”

            “You’ll be forgiving everything?”

            “I’ll be forgiving everything,” she confirms.

            “When hell freezes over.”

            “Or when Izzie Stevens gets metastatic cancer, God forbid.”

            “So God forbid you forgiving everything?” I wonder aloud.

            “God forbid something like that happen to her before I get my own time to forgive everything and apologise, because the apology comes after the forgiveness, and some day...someday I’ll understand she deserves it too, that we all deserve it from whatever Higher, Lower or Chaotic Power, for the mass of pain we were all in. I want that to come in its own authentic time. I don’t want her falling into the arms of cancer for that to happen.”

            “You are amazing, Erica Hahn,” I admire as I chew on my toast and think of how grateful I am.

 

V.

            “So. I’ve elucidated my general character and background...” I tell her collarbone, followed by a flirty lick. “What was the hardest lesson you ever had to learn?”

            Erica leans her head back against the pillow and exposes the expanse of her long pale neck. Ordinarily I would commence my loving attack on it, but because I know she’s trying to think I refrain.

            “I think it was my time at Seattle Grace. The lesson learned and the lesson taught are pretty connected and embedded.”

            I wait for her to continue, knowing she will. She likes to speak with long pauses to make sure she’s keeping close to the thoughts in her mind.

            “It was hard to hear from Webber that I wasn’t a good teacher. I couldn’t see it at the time. I remembered back to all the good teachers in my past—they had always been the tough ones with the hard outer shells. What I hadn’t remembered was that I could always feel, beneath it, that they respected me and my abilities and looked out for me. They were mushy on the inside—they just didn’t let anyone see that. It was left for us to feel out. Most people didn’t. I did.”

            “All the pots and kettles being black and all,” I remark with a smile. Erica chuckles.

            “Yes, that,” she agrees. “As you know I’m a mush inside. I’ll be damned if that shows at work, though.”

            “So Webber taught us both a hard lesson?”

            “Mmm. He was an instrument in mine. After he told me I wasn’t a good teacher I really sat down and thought about it. I had the hard shell. What I wasn’t showing was the underlying faith and respect. I strove to be more like the Nazi. I really respected her.”

            I smile again. Everyone did.

            “Did it work?”

            “It really did. I gave Yang an actual chance. Callie benefited from it at work as well. I could feel that I had achieved the right fit—a thick outer shell and don’t-mess-with-me attitude but a foundation of respect and faith where deserved.” She grins and I hear it in her voice. “Faaar beneath that a big gloop of mush.”

            “My mush. Mine!”

            “Agreed.” She turns to look at me. “That was one lesson I learned and a few that I taught, with Yang’s ardent pursuit and Callie’s ability to work through panic in a hard situation. She made a paralysed man walk.”

            I nod my head. I heard all about that one on the phone.

            “It was hard to learn that I was wrong with Yang. I thought I was right to put her in her place and remind her that sleeping up to the top is not the way to go.” She pauses and breathes deeply. “There was so much I didn’t know. Everyone was sleeping with everyone—there was no point in punishing her for the act everyone committed. Webber had done it years before. I did it a month after. I didn’t understand true romantic feelings, when all I had ever had were men who didn’t feel right—but I only drew from that that my priority was work and not romance.”

            She shakes her head. “It’s like a knot of strings, to be honest. She loved Burke and they had shared interests. She didn’t sleep her way _to_ the top, she _reached_ the top and got together with Burke. She chased after me out of love for her specialty, just the way I did when I was an intern.”

            “What happened when you were an intern?”

            “I got slapped down for being too eager. Was put in neonatal care for a while.”

            “Goodness, what a _punishment_.”

            “There were no hot attendings, so _yes_ ,” Erica jokes. She shrugs one shoulder and I feel it near my ear. “I had to work my way back into my specialty. I had to bite down my fervour. I was trying to teach Yang to do that, but I’ve realised...that’s just not the right thing to do.

            “Fervour for the job is what keeps us going through 18 hour shifts six days a week, 50 weeks a year. I still have the same fervour burning beneath my skin. I hide it, Yang doesn’t. What she really needs to learn is patient care—to hide the scalpel itch when speaking with a patient, and show her enthusiasm and knowledge in the OR.”

            Erica laughs. I adore the sound and squeeze her tight. I love our deep pillow talk. So much better than ‘that was awesome,’ ‘yeah it was,’ a very boring sequence. Getting in Erica’s head and heart? That’s what I call bedroom excitement.

            “We have things to learn from each other,” she admits with her further chuckle. “Maybe someday we’ll work together again. It won’t be at Seattle Grace.”

            “Amen, sister. We are out of the hotbed.”

            She turns and kisses me. “And into the fire.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. (:


End file.
